


Purr

by Shoulder_Devil



Series: Meow Mix [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Crack, Fluff, Gen, Pet the kitty!, cat!, there's a cat!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-22 20:01:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13771485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shoulder_Devil/pseuds/Shoulder_Devil
Summary: Something small and furry has opened one of Michael's doors but won't go in or out.  The Distortion has questions for the Archivist as to what is this strange, not-food, creature.





	Purr

**Author's Note:**

> I know I'm a day late for Jon/Michael but we need a bit of fluff after all the delicious angst this beautiful fandom is cranking out.

From in its endless corridors, Michael feels a presence approach one of its doors. It unfolds itself in anticipation, eager to stalk its next meal. The door swings open with the slightest touch on the knob. It waits for the food to enter. 

It continues to wait.

“Well that is odd…” Its voice echoed off spiraling infinity.

Usually, when one of the, humans, as they call themselves opens one of its doors they have stepped inside before they realize something is amiss. A bit of a cheat, yes, but Michael has never said that it plays fair. And yet…

The thing rubbing along its door frame is not a human. It is much smaller than they are, extra legs, which Michael appreciates, There is also an appendage swaying languidly from one of of the creature’s corners, opposite of the face currently rubbing across the edge of the door. Yes, a very odd thing indeed.

“Hello… you are not a human? What are you?”

The thing is running its whole length across the door edge now, making some kind of vibration in its chest. A very pleasant sound, Michael admits to itself, something it may use as a vocalization in the future perhaps. The small thing on its threshold does not have wrappers around it, seeming to having grown its own.

“Mreow?” it intoned, exposing a mouth of needle teeth. The thing rubbed up against the door again, sniffed delicately at the air and headbutted Michael somewhere in the vicinity of a lower limb.

Whatever this is, Michael is very pleased to have met it. It knows the not-human is not a food source. It does not fear the Distortion, completely unconcerned by its appearance and texture. It continues to rub its soft body against Michael’s dry skin alternating between both limbs, the door, and back again, never fully crossing the threshold into its corridors.

“In or out, little one? These doors are not meant to be open for long.” Michael does not even get the satisfaction of the thing reacting to its words. A human would have clutched their ears or made a delicious expression by now. That is not entirely true, it had swiveled its ears to point the indents toward the sound’s origin. It’s true origin. Very perceptive, this one.

“Mrrreeeouw.” the thing has the audacity to jump into Michael’s lap. The fact that this creature has managed to find where its lap goes is truly astounding.

It continues to rub against Michael going so far as to work its head under its bladed hand. Before long it is petting the thing on its lap without prompting. “What  _ are _  you?” It asks again, getting only vibration in reply.

 

* * *

 

 

“Archivist,” comes an unnatural voice from beside him, “I seek knowledge.”

‘Wh- What?” Jonathan turns to see Michael, standing before him looking almost convincingly human, except it has a dirty, orange tomcat perched on its… lap? How? He shakes head and looks up to regard its face with over sharp features and the unruly blond curls surrounding it.

“I- Michael? What are you-? How…” Jon trails off looking back at the cat despite his best effort.

“Those are questions…” Its voice pushes in on Jon from all sides, but less so than the last time he encountered this particular creature. “I am not here for your questions… but your answers, Archivist.”

Jon discards his glasses on the desk. He hopes that if he can’t see clearly he is less likely to end up with a migraine from Michael’s visit. He sighs heavily and returns his gaze to Michael’s face. “I suppose I don’t get a choice in this situation?”

“No? I believe you owe me… a favor.” It strokes the cat lounging inexplicably on a place where, on a normal person, disappeared when standing. “I would like to collect.”

Even if it was worth the effort, he is too tired to fight with Michael. Simply being in its presence is exhausting. He might as well get it over with quickly. Perhaps, if he is lucky, it will slip and give him a bit of useful information. Jon leans back in his desk chair and wearily gestures for it to proceed

“What,” it gingerly dislodges the sleeping feline, “is this?” It begins to stroke the cat, eliciting a deep, rumbling purr

“Um…” Jon doesn’t know where to begin with that one. Is the cat tied to something worthy of a statement? It looks like a normal, if a bit scruffy tom cat. One of its ears has been notched, indicating him as part of a feral colony.  Are packs of feral cats hunting people in the alleyways of London now?

He tries again, “Ah, what was it doing? Exactly?” As ridiculous as this may seem, if there is some kind of new threat, Jon wants to know about it as soon as possible. 

“It opened a door, my door, but would not come inside.” Michael brings its face down to eye level with the orange tabby and begins to imitate a purr. The noise scratches behind his eyes like a hacksaw on a chalkboard.

_ Smart cat _ , Jon thinks to himself, once he shook free of the worst of the screeching reverberations.  _ If only I’d had that foresight. _

“Well,” Jon swallows in an attempt to pop his ears, “cats have been known to open doors on occasion, they are rather smart. Wanting a door open and then refusing to go through is fairly standard cat behavior.  I’m not sure I follow, what is special about the cat and how does it relate to all,” he waved a hand through the air, “ _ this _ .”  

“Caaaatttttt” Michael teases the word around, testing out the sound and feel of it.  When it gets to the ‘t’ all of Jon’s fillings vibrate in harmony. He rubs his jaw and waits it out.

“You are cat.” It holds up the animal, starting to show annoyance at the manhandling, to its face and peers into its eyes. The cat, to its credit and Jon’s eternal amusement, swipes for and lands a paw across Michael's nose. “Its hands are sharp like mine!”

“Um, so there is nothing… odd about this particular cat?”

“It would not go in or out of the door, just stood in the threshold  _ rubbing _  me.”

“Yes, they do that, demanding attention on their terms.”  _ Just like some peopl- creatures I know. _  “Maybe don’t hold him like that, he doesn’t seem to like it.”

The cat is wriggling in its grip, not pleased at the position Michael is holding its fluffy, new friend. Despite the motion and the sharpness of its fingers, the cat remains unharmed through the process and manages to plop on the floor.  He grooms his back briefly before putting paws along Michael’s leg, using it as a scratching post.

Jon draws in a sharp breath, remembering his own abortive attempt to attack Michael and the wound he received for his trouble. Michael,  _ purrs  _ again and reaches down a long finger to scratch along under an orange ear. “I like this being… this  _ cat. _

The fearless creature proceeds to climb up Michael’s leg to somehow perch across his shoulders despite not passing along its torso.

“Well… He ah, certainly seems to like you back.” Jon drops his hands to the desk, shakes his head,  and mutters “Not bloody sure why, but there it is.”

“It vibrates very well. None of my wanderers have ever done that. Can you, Archivist?”

“What? Oh, you mean the purring? Yes, well that means he’s happy. Well, mostly, it can also be a stress response but from the looks of that ginger tom he’s quite happy to use you as a pillow.”

“Can you… purr, Archivist?” The vibrations in its voice only slightly disturbs its new friend.

Jon can feel a creep of wetness trickle from his left ear. He doesn’t need to touch it to know his hand will come away red. Squeezing his eyes shut against the assault, Jon trills his tongue to mimic a cat’s purr.

Thankfully Michael stops his own  _ purring _  when Jon starts and the pressure in the air and on his ears relents somewhat. “Nooooo,” it stretches the word, “the noise is similar, I suppose, but your chest did not vibrate. Try again.”

“Michael, my chest doesn’t work like that.”

“Oh? That  _ is _  a pity.” It regards him briefly before flicking a hand along Jon’s face, under his bleeding ear.

Jon startles away clutching a hand to his face. He is relieved to find no new wound, only a bizarre vibration, like a cat's purr, running along his jaw.

The Distortion offers Jon’s blood to the lounging animal. He stiffs at the bloody finger and sneezes. Michael laughs before licking its fingers clean. “I suppose you are of no more use to me, Archivist.”

It cocks its head and gives Jon a long look up and down. Adrenaline surges through him.  _ Has Michael finally decided to kill me? Am I no longer  _ entertaining _  enough now that it has a new pet? Christ, I’m a pet to him aren’t I? Michael thinks of me as its  _ pet.

It scratches at the cat on its shoulders. “At least at the moment.” Michael flicks knife tipped fingers across orange fur again and disappears through a door that was never there.

Jon deflates in his chair and rests his head on the desk.  _ No such luck in avoiding a migraine it would seem. _  He rubs his temples for a bit before going to dig around in his desk for the bottle of painkillers he keeps there.

“I suppose I should buy some cat treats now.” Jon sighed into the open drawer.


End file.
